


Drowning

by templarsandhoes



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templarsandhoes/pseuds/templarsandhoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shay has too much time to think on the ship back to the colonies after Lisbon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning

He still hears the crashing. The panicked screaming. The bricks collapsing onto one another. The crackling of fires engulfing entire streets. The snapping of wooden beams meant to support the buildings. The mumbled prayers. He still sees the faces of innocent people, wondering where their loved ones are. The fallen buildings all around him. He still feels the ground shaking. His own bones breaking on impact when he falls through a failing floor. The sweat on his brow as he races to safety. His heart beating in his chest. The guilt. 

He did this. No one else. It was not God, or some other being. Not a natural disaster. Him. 

It was a blur when it happened. As he relives the memory of that day over and over again, he notices something new. Someone new. Someone’s bakery being toppled. A woman looking for her children. A locket on the ground next to...

He can’t think straight. He climbs out of his bunk, and walks up to the deck of the Man o’ War charted for the doomed expedition. The night sky is a welcomed darkness. Stars as far as the eye can see. Waves lapping against the hull of the ship. Salt in the air. He can finally breathe. But then it’s all too quiet again, and his own thoughts begin to drown him again. 

Drowning.

What’s stopping him from leaping over the railing? Who would miss him? Him- the man who destroyed a city. Him- the man who blindly followed orders. Him- the murder. Who would love him? Who would believe him? 

He grabs onto the railing so tight he thinks he might rip the skin of his palm open. He closes his eyes tight. But he starts to see faces; those poor souls he left in the streets of the city he destroyed. He has to open his eyes, to prove to himself that they aren’t here. He wants to scream. But that would alert the crew. And he’d be damned if anyone else was aware of his suffering. 

What would he say to the man who gave him the order? Would he listen? Maybe Achilles will understand. He has to make Achilles understand. What of his friends? Would they forgive him? If he can’t forgive himself, how can others forgive him? So many questions ran through his mind, so many thoughts conquered his consciousness. 

One deep breath. He allows himself to relax. He loosens his grip on the railing. He stares off into the horizon, although there is nothing to see. 

How quickly the blue sky turned to black is an image that will never leave his mind. How easily buildings fell. He went into a building, a church of all places, on a beautiful, sunny afternoon. People were happy. He went into a building, and when he came out, the sun was no longer visible. Black clouds of smoke filled the air as buildings burned all around him. He tried to think of something he could do, but panic set in. He decided to save himself. What a waste of a saved soul. 

One tear. He allows one tear to find its way down his cheek. He fights the urge to let more out. There was nothing he can do about Lisbon now. No sense in reliving it. 

What would he have done? Would he have saved others? Would things have gone differently? He shudders at the thoughts. He could think of a million questions to ask himself. And eventually, he will ask. But not tonight. 

He backs away slowly from the railing, rubbing his hands together to assess tonight’s damage. He opens the hatch to the crew’s quarters. He gets back into bed. And he waits until the nightmares find him again.


End file.
